


The German Patient

by DarknesSonata



Series: The German Patient [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Nazi Germany, Soviet Union, molotov-ribbentrop pact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknesSonata/pseuds/DarknesSonata
Summary: During a sneak-off from the feast celebrating Soviet Union and Germany's mutual victory over Poland, Ivan found his ally undergoing some kind of illness. And he voluntarily took the role of doctor, for an instant. RusGer. In Ivan's POV.
Relationships: Germany/Russia (Hetalia)
Series: The German Patient [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078739
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	The German Patient

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly and most importantly, as English is not my mother language, the work definitely contains a ton of grammatical mistakes and misnomers. So I should apologize at the very first. Sorry for violating your language.
> 
> And finally I make it. But I have no idea why this mess looks so much alike to some kind of soliloquy. Maybe I just drunk too much vodka and jäggermeister while translating. 
> 
> As before, thanks to Soviet Assault Waltz, back ground music of a game called World in Conflict, composed by Ola Stradh. The music sparked this work.

A week ago, the Red Army and the German Wehrmacht joined forces in Brest. Under the daylight, a military parade was held. But in twilight, the sky-piercing war cry and the rumming of tracks were dissolved into dancing, music, fragrance, wine, things as elegant and fascinating. I love it, sincerely. But now even my appreciation can not afford to keep me here, as a strange uneasiness developing in my heart, and fostered by the overaccumulated sweet scent. Have a fellow comrade informed, I take my leave for the terrace I found earlier.

In the corridor, widely opened Gothic style windows allow the space filled with mild air of September. Calm and refreshing, it should be like this. However, some absurd smell, tobacco maybe, pollutes the air. My brows crunch without recognition. And when find it comes right from the terrace, I almost come to wrath.

Someone is standing by the handrail or precisely, leaning forward on the handrail, right hand hugging his bowed head and left hand clipping cigarette, which exactly is the very resource of that smell. As soon as my presence is caught, he draws up a sharp inhale, then turns back with a hand gun in his hand. However, as soon as we recognize each other, my wrath vanishes, and he leans back to the handrail.

Ludwig, embodiment of Deutschland, with whom I signed a long-term cooperation not long ago, is breathing heavily, eyes shut tight. Even with the obstacle of lids, how restlessly the eyeballs are rolling and shuddering can be found. A blue vein throbs violently on his temple and beneath his hand. The ashtray beside contains more than a dozen cigarette ends.

Later on, he looks a little better, although narrowly replays the scene showed minutes ago, at least for now, he regains the energy to apologize for overreacting.

"Are you so addicted to cigarettes?" accepted his unheartening apology with a smile, I ask.

"No. Never."

I give no answer, but tilt my chin toward that ashtray.

"Just…occasionally." blushing, he extinguishes the cigarette between his fingers, "I felt malaise just now. The dancing hall is too noisy."

"It may derive from some kind of neuritis. You should visit doctor."

"Ja, I will keep your words in mind. Thanks for the kindness." jolting the wine glass, Ludwig  
turns to toy with the cigarette butts with fingertips, "A friend have recommended some injections. I will give them a try."

Without words, Ludwig keeps on squint at me from time to time. When that vein throbs for another round, Ludwig presses his temple again. 

I don't know if it is my presence that makes him feel uneasy again, or just a kind of intermittent symptom of neuropathy. But no matter what, I wouldn't take my leave.

Appreciating his suffering, it strikes to me that the uneasiness has vanished. Like a hollow filled, Ludwig's presence disperses my uneasiness. Hence over the feast, I felt his absence before I found that. But, have the whole thing considered over, it turns out to be rational. The theoretically very main role, he who needs the victory celebration desperately more than I do, more than everyone does, took his leave and hide in a corner to suffer his own pain.

Poor, poor young nation. Youth gifted him with incredible bravery and power to break old rules and order, as well as blindfolded him by boldness and arrogance, left him only a bitter end of being haunted by failure and frustration, and didn't guarantee the ability to digest them all, which can only be attained from the long era I have sustained. 

Under the too bright light of chandeliers, I didn't even caught his existence. But in the haze of night, I find he is breathtaking. Pale golden hair, pale blue eyes, and pale snowy skin, a kind of gloomy and faded beauty, a moonstone shimmers only under dim light.

Maybe, just maybe, I can do him a favor.

"How long have the symptoms maintained?" I took a cigarette as well, "Would you mind lending me a light?"

"It's beyond imagination that you haven't been overwhelmed by domestic and foreign affairs, and still have energy to dip into medicine." he flirts, "Should I address you as Doctor Braginsky?"

"Thanks to the generous instructions from Doctor Pavlov." without permission, I attach my cigarette to his,  
"And as long as you are pleased."

"Ja, Doctor Braginsky." his lips crinkle into a smile, almost ferocious, “I have been so since about ten years ago.”

"You are talking nonsense." cigarette ash drop, I sneer, "With all due respect, you were far more worse then."

\------

It's diffcult to tell if I am more attached to a lunatic soaked by despair and frustration, or fascinated by a physcho masked with politeness and sanity.

Да, he looked far more worse back to 1930. I can still recall that day. After the Great Depression, a weird political party, the Nazi Party, stepped on German political stage. Their ethnic ideology spread seeds of uneasiness among the Slavs living in Deutschland, and traggered objections in my country. Thus, I left for Berlin and palnned to draw a solution, an agreement over our conference. However, after long wait, long enough to be regarded as an arrogant demonstration, and narrowly before my patience run out, a walking skeleton named Ludwig finally showed up.

It was not an exaggerated description, considering how pale and lifeless his face was, and how scrawny and lithe his body was. Just like, blood drained last night, he was unconsciously dragged out of bed, and pinned down on my opposite side.

He shouldn't be blamed. A sacred merciful voice rung in my head like a church bell. Can anyone require a nation to escape from an economic earthquake caused by the Great Depression, sound and safe, with limbs totally broken by the Treaty of Versailles? Definitely, not me. However, a surge of laughing formed in my heart. Before losing control of my facial muscles,  
I hid my face, pretending that I was about to cough. 

Greatest gratitude for your sending Lenin back, I laughed under the mask of my palm, if permitted, I would call you товарищ, sincerely.

\-------

"Really? I can hardly recall." Ludwig sips from his wine glass, "You are so adept at memorizing."

"You overpraised me. Had your memory unaffected by illness, it would be no worse than mine." I drink as well, "Have you turned to drugs? Morphine? Cocaine? Or heroin?"

"Never." he replies, eyes fixing on mine, fingers crushing hard on his cigarette butt into the ashtray, like it is a head belongs to someone he is planning to drown.

\-------

Of course, I didn't address Ludwig as товарищ. When the conference came to an end, we shook hands as usual to show friendship and cooperation. However, before our hands were about to part, out of sarcastic gratitude and vicious pleasure, I grabbed the very opportunity to yank Ludwig into my arms. My action was absolutely odd, in the eyes of conventional Germans. But considering that I represent Советский Сoюз, the action was not that odd after all. Even under such a hilarious and intimate condition, Ludwig didn't spare his attention to me.

After we parted, I found several blood stains diffusing across his sleeve. Needle eyes, undoubtedly, might be ripped open when I yanked him. The scarlet circles, eyes filled with lost and revengence, mouths howling in hunger and wrath.

\------

"Then, what is that?" I ask, staring at his wrist. Uncovered from the action before, several dark red needle eyes can be recognized on his pale skin.

"I was under a low fever before attending to the feast. And the military doctor prescribed some injections." Ludwig raises the glass to his lips again. This time, he drains the wine.

"Rationally." I echo to his explanation, "Moreover, are you enduring some other symptoms, like hearing inexistent sounds and witnessing invisible scenes?"

"I can hear rustling sounds in too noisy crowd and sleepless nights. But illusions…they have never caught up with me, till now."

You goddamned slutty liar. I saw you tried to extinguish the dilirious fire burning your eyeballs with water of reality mere hours ago. Found it vain, you narrowly digged out your eyes. 

"If so, you are just infected with common neutris. To prevent it from hardening and branching out mental disease, you should rest more and smoke less. As soon as returning to Germany, please visit a professional doctor, at least more professional than me." have my glass raised, I drink up the wine left inside, "May you healthy."

He would be healthy. With Rhineland reunited and Sudeten engulfed, he finally regained the power to conquer Polish territory. In obedience, Poland's plain of amaranthine carpet sprawls out beneath his black army boots, leads to a future of glory.

Found that Ludwig has drained his wine, I return to the dancing hall and take two from dining table.

"Please do a favour to hobnob with me." before Ludwig can reject or question, I hand the glass over, "To peace." have the glass raised and tilted to Ludwig's direction, I toast.

Although light blonde eyebrow tilted, as I have counted, Ludwig takes the stem of the glass. Rims crackle.

"To honour." said by Deutschland.

While toasting, Ludwig keeps on monitoring me from his eye corner, so do I. I'm very sure that the wine merely moists Ludwig's lips, even after such prolonged sip.

From the dancing hall comes a solemn and dull melody of cello, in 3/4 beat, a waltz.

"They are almost done." out of silence, Ludwig says, tapping his fingers against hem according to the rhythm. For the first time, he starts a conversation.

"Да."

I cannot put my finger on what he is planning to say or intending to do, But I'm very sure he will take action.

Finally, he makes up his mind. Glass settled on handrail, Ludwig stands straight right in my face.

"Mr. Comrade, would you please dance with me?"

Although addressing in slutry voice, his wolf-like teeth shimmer for reflecting the distant dim light.

Chosen to answer with actions instead of words, I slide my left hand underneath his arm and around waist, then clench his fingers with right hand. Ludwig tilts his eyebrow again. It can be attributed to the disagreement between reality and his imagination, but he gives no objection.

After standing in silence for a while to coordinate our own breath and rhythm with the beat, when we start the first step, balalaika coincidentally rings out at the very moment. Sharp voie of this instrument sounds like ice crinkling apart, so our first steps are cautious restrained.

When music of Blalaika dies down, and passionate coro of violins surges on like waves beneath moonlight. I found Ludwig slightly leaning his back against my palm, and fingers clasping on my shoulder and hand. With the fulcrums, he takes dominance ,and drags me down into the vortex. He doesn't have delicate limbs and luxury dress can blooms while whirling around, but lean torso covered by military uniform as dark as night, and glacier-like pale blue eyes, freezing and burning at the same time.

Can't spoil him too much. Smiling, I take the opportunity when Ludwig slows down, and raise my hand. Shortly piercing me with his eyes, Ludwig obediently rotates as I guide. As turns back, he put himself between my arms, just like what happened in 1930, just like we are a pair of intimate lovers, too deeply drown in mutual beauty and owe.

In the meantime, countless homosexuals are screaming in jails of motherland and fatherland.

When the music finally dies down, we parted in consensus. Ludwig turns to the handrail, then comes back with our glasses in hand. 

"To our mutual peace and honour."

Ludwig addresses, then drains the wine used to belong to me.

Stroking his lip print left on the rim with finger pulp, I drink up in one swallow as well. 

To our mutual peace and honour, à votre santé.


End file.
